


R6S: Winnie the Pooh Honey Challenge

by Grain_Crain



Series: Tumblr Asks [7]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Bee - Freeform, Bees, Challenges, Dare, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grain_Crain/pseuds/Grain_Crain
Summary: It's a request sent frommirrorworldangel, and they said:Every time a foreign CTU joins Rainbow they had to do the Winnie the Pooh Honey challenge: choose only one representative of the team to collect a jarful of honey from the very corner beehive tree of the Hereford base. With only a face cover to protect themselves. Any modern devices to collect the honey is forbidden. Only their hands, a scooper and a mason jar. Tell us the outcomes of every CTU there.Hence I wrote about them.
Series: Tumblr Asks [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1334407
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mirrorworldangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirrorworldangel/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it all came to be.

Who dared to suggest such an idea? ‘Go and get some honey from outside.’ ‘It has to be fresh honey, yes, the freshest and most organic out there.’ The rationale stated its purpose to be a team building exercise, but once the bullshittery was unveiled, there revealed the true intention of this juvenile tomfoolery. An initiation challenge that’s to be completed by CTU groups when they become the newest addition to Rainbow. As Harry read over the safety regulations and emergency procedures, Thermite’s gleeful smile became Ash’s demise. 

A few more minutes passed and Harry nodded, “Sure. Let’s give this a go.” 

“Aw yeah.” Thermite clenched a fist to have it bump against Pulse’s.

“Are you serious? No. No way. You can’t do this without Aurelia’s permission!” Ash slapped the paper and slammed it into the desk. 

“Do not worry, Cohen. I am her psychological and military culture advisor for a reason,” He spread the paper down and straightened it against the glossy desk, “It’s never my intention to make decisions that will burden her and you. I see this as an opportunity to bring us closer to each other. A comedy to brighten our day! Pure joy in watching others fail.”

“What you’re describing there is ‘schadenfreude.’ I’m loving it already.” Pulse took off his sunglasses for a quick swipe against his shirt, but it soon plummeted to the ground when Ash lashed out again in agitated fit. 

“We are not doing this. How stupid are you?”

“Hold on, Liza. Violence isn’t the answer,” Castle picked up the sunglasses and frowned at the slight crack, “I don’t think it’s a bad idea. People will have the choice to opt out if they don’t want to do it. Right, Jordan?”

“Yeah, totally! None of this will be forced.” Thermite replied but he shot a wink at Pulse, for they knew of the competitive nature that resides within the Rainbow. 

“And of course Jordan will volunteer to show how it’s done,” Castle tapped on Thermite’s cheek to gain the Texan’s attention, “We will take video footage as an exemplary demonstration. A visual instruction for the newcomers.” He imitated the wink and topped it off with a grin as well.

Thermite did a double take, “Wait, what?”

“Excellent! I shall provide you a camera. And a drone too, for obvious reasons.” Harry beamed and watched Ash turning her frown not-so-upside-down. 

“See? That’s not a bad deal. You get to see him suffer.” Pulse noticed a change on her face and helped to brighten the mood.

“Hey, what the hell? I thought we were in this together.” Thermite shoved Pulse by the shoulder, but the taller man’s attention was fixated on their head honcho. She appeared less grumpy, which matters a lot if they want to push the proposal into success.

Ash leaned down and squinted to skim over the sentences, “Says the participant is only allowed to wear a head cover. No gloves or anything to protect their bodies. Just the scooper and jason jar to collect honey.”

“Maybe we should add haz suit-”

Harry cut into Thermite’s words, “Yup. That’s right.” 

“And when the participant gets stung, the medical staff will be there on standby.” Ash mulled over as her finger followed along what she read aloud. 

“We won’t need medical assistant if we get haz su-”

“I’m sure Doc won’t like it, but he might be convinced if Rook volunteers out of hunger. Maybe that will get the boy to cut down on sweets.” Castle interjected.

“Still, it’s all too risky. We need to add a clause for those who are allergic to bee venom.” Ash remained skeptical.

“Have a look on the back.” Harry flipped over the page and chuckled when she let out a hum.

“Well, you can’t blame me for being volatile when you first mentioned the idea,” Ash rubbed on the edge of the proposal, “But you managed to write a proper procedure. No wonder why Elena lets you be at her workshop, no matter how absurd you sound at times.”

“Well, thanks. But I think-” Thermite stepped towards Harry to make himself heard before it’s too late.

“Here you go,” Harry met him the half-way by rising from the chair to hand out a DSLR and sleek drone with a GoPro, “I think that settles it. Now let me handle the big boss, and that means I need to get cracking on writing something that will convince her better. Wish you luck, Jordan.” 

“Harry. Wait, don’t send it to the big boss yet- Jack, you can’t throw me under the bus like this!” His bandaged fingers latched onto the edge of his desk, a desperate attempt to push against the other three who were pulling him away for the promised adventure. 

“Come on, sugar. Give us some honey.” 


	2. The Conclusive Reports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a summarised conclusions of each CTUs' attempts. There are video evidences that explains recorded results as mentioned below, so feel free to choose and watch to your liking.

  * **[FBI SWAT - He_reaps_what_he_sows.mp4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750/chapters/62665456)  
  
** The end result:  
  
37 stings extracted from shoulder, back, legs and forearms.  
  
The amount of honey - 0.5/12 ounce.



  * [**SAS - Sweet_maggie_mother_of_fuck.mp4**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750/chapters/62665519)

The end result:

2 stings extracted from back.

The amount of honey - 7/12 ounce.

Participator’s comment: “You can’t get a full jar out from this small hive! Get smaller jar because I’ve milked out everything from these poor stinging bugs.”  
  


  * **[GIGN - To_be_or_not_to_bee.mp4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750/chapters/62665552)  
**

The end result:

124 stings extracted everywhere except the face.

The amount of honey - 8 ounces, full.

Sidenote: Gustave “Doc” Kateb applied for an extended holiday leave.  
  


  * **[Spetsnaz -‘Whole’some_and_organic.mp4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750/chapters/62665717)  
**

The end result:

81 stings extracted from the upper torso.

The amount of honey - a whole hive.

Sidenote: Ban ‘water’ from Spetsnaz for four weeks.  
  


  * **[GSG 9 - Who_dare_summon_demons.mp4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750/chapters/62665795)  
**

The end result:

27 stings extracted from the upper body.

The amount of honey - 1/8 ounces.

Sidenote: Nothing strange. Nope. None of that supernatural shit.  
  


  * **[JTF2 - A_peace_offering.mp4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750/chapters/63127924)  
  
** The end result: **  
  
**13 stings extracted from ankles and hands.  
  
The amount of honey - two jars. 7 / 8 ounce and 7.5 / 8 ounce  
  
Sidenote: Trees nearby are indeed slathered with sugar water, also there is a ball of fine nets hanging on those trees for the bees to ‘stay awhile.’ It’s drenched with other syrup and no, it’s not just maple. Tina Lin "Frost" Tsang also have prepared a net that engulfs a large group, but she had decided against using the trap because she is, “Here to make friends, not enemies.”  
  
  

  * **[SEALs - The_only_easy_day_was_Yesterday.mp4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750/chapters/63128104)  
  
** The end result:  
  
52 stings extracted from the upper body.  
  
The amount of honey - 5/8 ounce.



  * **[BOPE - Can_it_loser.mp4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750/chapters/63237562)  
**

The end result:  
  
Injuries unidentified.  
  
The amount of honey - 9/8 ounce. 

  * **[SAT - Believe_it_or_not.mp4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750/chapters/63380164)  
**

The end result:  
  
31 stings extracted from forearms, chest, neck. 4 are from her face - cheekbones and left jawline.  
  
The amount of honey - 1/8 ounce.  
  

  * **[GEO - To_see_if_I_still_feel.mp4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750/chapters/63641419)  
**

The end result:  
  
39 stings. Abrasion from below the wrist to the cubital fossa (the place between forearm and biceps.)  
  
The amount of honey - 3/8 ounce.  
  
Sidenote: The jar also contained skin, barks, blood, crushed up bee bodies, wax, hair. 

  * **[SDU - Poke_u_pine.mp4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798750/chapters/63980728)  
**

The end result:  
  
0 stings.   
  
The amount of honey - 7/8 ounce.  
  
Sidenote: Don’t ask, don’t tell. Seriously. Don’t. 

  
  





  * **GROM  
  
** TBA  
  


  * **SMB  
  
** TBA  
  


  * **CBRN  
  
** TBA  
  


  * **GIS  
  
** TBA  
  


  * **GSUTR  
  
** TBA  
  


  * **GIGR  
  
** TBA  
  


  * **SASR  
  
** TBA  
  


  * **Phantom Sight  
  
** TBA  
  


  * **Ember Rise  
  
** TBA  
  


  * **NITEHAVEN  
  
** TBA  
  


  * **Void Edge  
**  
TBA  
 **  
**

  * **Steel Wave  
**  
TBA **  
**




	3. FBI SWAT - He_reaps_what_he_sows.mp4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thermite really didn't think this through.

> _There hangs a lone beehive on the outskirts of a nearby forest. Only one._ ****

“I was joking. For real.” 

“Oh good. Because it was funny. Real fun.” Castle adjusts the head cover for the umpteenth time and it is starting to lose the soothing effect that’s meant to calm Thermite down.

Pulse has the camera rolling already and begins to clear his voice, “Here in the middle of a military base, we are lucky to find a young tyke preparing for his first pillaging. Pampered by his parental being, this half-burnt rascal is quick to whine about his incompetence and failing self-esteem.”

“Jack, I’m gonna fucking kill you.” Thermite lunges to block the lens, but he’s pulled back by a strong grip on the back of his shirt.

“It’s karma. Now go and get that honey,” Ash lets go and shoves the jar into his hands, “Own it up.”

Thermite stares down at the clear container and watches the condensation forming rather quickly between his sweaty fingers and smooth surface. Fidget it around at a different angle and he can see the glinting reflection of a sun from above, and the sparse cloud covering the blue sky. Too much of a damn good day for honey gathering. The beehive is a faint grey spot under tree shades, and it will take a brief walk to have it right in front of him, “Say, have you got the drone ready?”

“Nope. We will use it when you’re up close to the hive.”

“Oh. Okay.” His palms are sweaty, knees weak and arms are heavy. Not on the verge of vomiting, but the nervousness comes close to indigestion.

“Let’s go. We haven’t got all day.” Her words set the adventure to its course. They trudge along, walking the same pace as Thermite but all stays behind the man himself.

“It’s all a natural part of being a cub. Treading along a new path, marching into the unknown. We aspire to document his first dip into the forbidden elixir, the golden essence of colonial wisdom.” 

“Can you drop the accent? You don’t even sound like that BBC guy.” Thermite snaps at Pulse and lashes out. 

Pulse steps back in time and smirks, “A brown bear grows into maturity in only a few months, but this one has a temper that matches its adult form.”

“Don’t tempt him to maul your face,” Castle chides, “Don’t worry, Jo. We can get you to the infirmary asap if something happens.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Thank God to have the medical personnels with them right at this moment. Doc, within all his rights, was furious at Thermite for suggesting something so ridiculous, His uptight attitude scoffed off at his proposal, saying something along the lines of _‘I cannot condone such tomfoolery that wastes our staff’s time and effort.’_ Of course he caved in and promised the medics an overtime pay rate. 

“Oh wow. It’s busier than I thought.” Ash whispers as they near the destination. To their horror, the beehive is fully occupied with bustling inhabitants. 

“Can a person die from bee stings? LIke, millions of bee stings on your body?” Thermite breathes out, smelling the vapour trapped in the finely knitted net. 

“Relax. Just get in there, take the comb down and dig the honey into a jar. That’s all you need to do. Shake your body like there’s no tomorrow and maybe you will get stung half a million times.” Castle squeezes the scooper into the Texan’s soaked, bandage-sticky hand. 

“Here it comes, ladies and gentlemen. Time for a hunt.” 

“Here goes nothing.” Thermite blows a couple of hasty sighs, then walks closer to the ugly lump. Restless buzzing swallows him whole, it’s as if he has entered into a domain of the infamous Beealzebub. Every bulge and convulsion when each unit twitches in motion. It’s a man versus the most well-coordinated platoon in the animal kingdom.

Thermite scrapes the living layer off with the jar, and then shakes them out. No matter how many times he tries to reveal the honeycomb, the bees keep on merging back in as if they are trying to conceal what shouldn’t be bare. _Damn it._ He should have added an exception for more advanced tools. Hammer. Tongs. A sturdy box and lighter. May as well dump the whole hive into the container and pour the gasoline over, then boom. Burn it all down to cinders. _Then how the hell is he supposed to get honey from a mound of ash?_

“Precision, or cowardice? They’re the same but interesting to watch, nonetheless.” Pulse’s voice is all too clear in midst of the incessant cacophony; perhaps that’s the truest ear sore than what’s in front.

Thermite whips back with such force, “Can you shut it? God fucking damn!” And there’s a thud.

“Oh shit.” Castle leaps back.

“Code orange?” Pulse dares to lean down and zoom on the fallen hive. There are small bits of bees prancing around, and then the density thickens as the whirring hum escalates, “Oh- ph- code red! Code bright fucking red!” The swarm takes a second to emerge. The American operatives then understand why the old cartoons have an agitated group of bees looking like black pepper bombs.

“Fall back!” Ash waves at the medics stationed far behind them, “Jordan, come on. Let’s go!”

“The bees,” Thermite whispers, “They’re all out from the hive.” It’s now or never. He crouches toward the objective and strikes the jar itself on the arrays of hexagons. Forearms and shoulders start to sting already, but like hell he’s going to back down. The glass brim digs into the wax and sticky goo seeps out; the success is exhilarating and almost masks the prickling itch all over his body. An agony rolls in a moment later.

“You’ve done it! Now get the fuck up!” 

“Don’t tell me you’re meant to fill the whole jar. Stupid!” The same two who dragged Thermite out of Harry’s office attempt to lift him away from the purgatory. Pulse hasn’t run away yet, dutifully recording the scene where Ash and Castle are dragging a fully grown man limp like a blotchy ragdoll. The video would have been longer if the swarm ceased to chase Thermite, but the outrage lasted far too long for anybody to withstand at that point. 


	4. SAS - Sweet_maggie_mother_of_fuck.mp4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No fear. None at all.

> _A new queen in town. She is ready for a second wind and her kingdom shall thrive._

News of the recent failure spreads faster than a wildfire. It also reaches the real original crew, the host who allowed Rainbow to reside within their homebase, Hereford. 

“Is this really what they did? Go up to a hornet’s nest and rattle it?” Smoke lays on the couch while watching the video posted on their ethernet hub. Two taps to rewind the exact moment when the hive dropped, and Pulse’s frantic screaming for ‘code red’ seems to amuse him endlessly.

“Not hornets. They were honey bees,” Mute continues to read paragraphs below the footage, “Huh. They managed to get some.”

“Colour me impressed,” Sledge shrugs while pouring hot water into his mug. Earl Grey and a spoonful of sugar, “Maybe we can get honey for ourselves. Aren’t they supposed to be healthier?”

“Absolutely not. None of you lads will be doing such a thing,” Thatcher tosses the paper copy of proposals and props that’s been sent from Harry, “I’ve no idea what purpose this _joke_ serves, and I don’t intend to find anything good that comes out from this.”

“Aw, come on old man. You’re being cranky,” Smoke rolls over, “I think we should give it a go. Show them how it’s really done.”

“Fucking bonkers. You saw what became of Trace,” This won’t be the last time Thatcher pinches the bridge of his nose, “Why do I even care. Fine, then. Go on and be the shiniest knobhead out there. Like I give a shite.”

“And here I didn’t expect such blessings from you!” Smoke waves at his senior who is quick to leave the room, “Be ready for a surprise when I pull it off.”

“He gave up on you. Don’t be too smug about it.” Mute sits next to Smoke, already browsing through apps and webs.

Smoke nudges the younger man, trying to pry him off from his seat, “What’re you doing, mate?”

“What?” Mute holds his position without looking away from the screen.

“We’re going now. Get ready.”

Smoke finally gains Mute’s undivided attention, “I thought you were saying things to get him mad.” 

“Come on, Marky. Do I lie that often?” Smoke grins at his own question, knowing the immediate answer he will hear from the other.

“Yes? Ever since the day I met you?” Mute frowns and scoots away to gain some space.

“Not really. There are moments when he tells the truth,” Sledge sighs, “And that’s when he’s up to no good.”

“Thanks. It feels nice to have two of my men backing me up,” Smoke heaves away from the comfy mattress and picks up the drone with GoPro, “Now I need to hear it from our little brat. Care to help out?”

“I’m taller than you. Far from being little at all,” Mute stretches and his hips sink into the residual warmth from a spot where Smoke had been laying, “Oh look. This couch is too small for me but you managed to sleep on it just fine. I wonder why.”

“That’s your loss. Don’t put the blame on me and my perfect physique for all couches in the world,” Smoke drops the drone onto Mute’s stomach and grins upon hearing a surprised gasp, “Up you hop. Time to go.”

Mute nearly threw the gadget off, but he soon realises how pricey these intricate electronics are, “Why me? Get Seamus to go with you.”

“He will, but he won’t be the one recording my heroic deeds! I need a strong man to carry me away when I die from treacherous war.”

Mute really has no business being interested or invested with whatever Smoke has narrated. He had seen plenty of practical jokes under the pretense of welcoming newcomers, and this is by far the lamest of the lame, “Tell me you aren’t gonna do what he’d just said.” He pleads with the Scottish giant to have some common sense, or maturity that matches his age.

“You’re better at remote controls,” Sledge sips on his tea, “And I think it’s better than spending another night at a pub.” It appears he has neither.

“No,” Mute shakes his head, suffering from disappointment and impending annoyance that’s yet to come, “This is a huge waste of time,” He reiterates all the cons and disadvantage while being hauled out of their dorm, woefully stuck between two children wearing fully grown men suit. The medics join them midway and how their eyes bear no expression. Soulless and exhausted from all other shenanigans happening within the base that’s supposed to be full of professionals, “I should have left with Mike,” Yes, he really should have. Then who was too lazy to move away from a storm brewing right next to him? “I’m an idiot.” _Yes, you are._

Smoke’s teeth shine brighter than his near-future, “Record me like one of your French baguettes.”

“Still smaller than mine.” Sledge has no intention to filter the filthy innuendo.

“Just- just go.” Mute aims the lens and watches the giddy trickster marching across the field.

“Look at him. I wonder where he gets the confidence.” Sledge leans down to whisper into the phone.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Mute pushes the man away, “You can talk normally. The mic is on the GoPro itself.”

The screen shows a view from right above Smoke, surveying each and every step he takes towards the hive. There are a few white spots wheezing past, to which Mute understands them as bees on patrol, showing their suspicion towards an unidentifiable flying object from their perspective. One would assume insects to be weary or frightened by something much larger hovering over the air, but it looks like these buzzing soldiers are braver than expected. So how on earth will Smoke fare against the hostile units that will attack at any moment?

“Mark,” Sledge cocks his head, “There are too many of them on the drone.”

“That’s strange.” Mute looks away from the screen to see what Sledge has observed. There are a myriad of tiny particles surrounding the drone, while Smoke hardly has any. 

“I’m going down to see what’s going on.” 

“Don’t. You’ve got nothing to protect you.” Mute is not going to be the one who carries two deadweight men if anything happens to them.

“I’ll be fine. There’s hardly any around him,” And there he goes, too deaf to hear any good logical reasoning that Mute has to offer. 

Wondering if the drone is acting as a bait, Mute decides to have it fly higher and farther away from his two residential dumbasses. Then who is going to film the evidence? “Seamus!” He calls out and sees a response from the said man, “Take a video! Get your phone and take it!” An affirmative sign and Mute is somewhat relieved. Perhaps this will work out better than he anticipated, and they can all be winners here. The drone might gain some scratches and ground-up bees, but it’s a small price to pay. Much better than what Smoke might do if they didn’t do this challenge during the daytime.

What breaks Mute out from daydream is a bellow from the direction of the hive, “MARK!” He doesn’t want to reply. Better to pretend that he’s too busy with the drone- “MARK! COME HERE! YOU NEED TO SEE THIS!”

“I’m alright!” Mute waves back.

“COME HERE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. OR ELSE I’M CARRYING YOU OVER LIKE A LOG.”

_Why me. Why?_ “Fine. Stay there and don’t you dare move.” Mute hesitates to jog, but Sledge is already walking towards him so he fastens the pace. If this day hasn’t gotten any weirder. Mute hopes it won’t escalate any further. As he nears the bee’s territory, Mute notices a few here and there. It’s as if there is an invisible wall blocking them away from their home, but none dares to return. Not even when Smoke is using a scooper in the most gracious manner to drip a thick stream of honey into the mason jar.

“Are you seeing this? James is a fucking druid.” Sledge taps on the screen to re-focus the video on the act of peaceful collecting.

“What is happening?” Mute is baffled. Any coherent thought process in his head is thrown out the window, and he hates how the troublemaker seems mightier than how he actually is.

“It’s no secret, my lads,” Smoke closes the jar tight, “These bees know what’s in my canister. More perceptive than anybody in the base.”


	5. GIGN - To_be_or_not_to_bee.mp4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet king of all.

> _On the third day, a king rose for his people. To protect, to serve and be served. **  
> **_

Hearing about all kinds of ridiculous antics on a daily basis is one thing. Regular fuck-ups and less surprise as time goes by. Doc thought he would be numb from mishaps by now, but he is clearly wrong and will continue to be surprised as the Rainbow family expands (a privileged foresight for us, who are beyond the fourth wall.)

“Have you learned your lesson?” Plucking off a prickle isn’t too bad until you have to extract forty of them on two separate occasions.

“Yes.” Rook replies without a pause.

There is a clang when Doc drops the tweezer into the steel kidney dish, “Good.”

“I need to run faster before the bees come back.” As if such a solution hadn’t worked after a second try. 

“Bad,” Bags under Doc’s eyes deepens, “Why are you obsessed with this?”

“Because I know I can do it. I’ve seen my mother do it as well. She taught me about beekeeping,” Rook notices his nails digging into the reddened spots on forearms, but he holds the urge to scratch, “Early 2000’s was her organic life phase.” He narrates the basic fact; the relationship between the colony and their core, and how beekeepers take out a drawer where the queen bee is kept to lure out her workers. Rook had been digging into the wax to find her and that’s how he got twenty stings on the entirety of his right arm. The other twenty were from his second try, a bait and ambush tactic displayed by the SAS. Imitation was a decent approach but he didn’t notice the real advantage Smoke had. Bees weren’t focusing on the drone; they were running away from a massive stink bag in human form and chose to attack the inferior. 

“I’m sure she had many valuable lessons for you and your sister. But a domestic hive isn’t the same as wild ones,” Doc spreads ointment on younger man’s back, “And if your solution is just to ‘run faster,’ I’m having doubts on your method of learning.”

“It’ll be better next time. I promise.” Rook turns around to have the front side tended as well.

“No. I’m putting my foot down on this,” Doc slaps a thick slab. He is unapologetic and nonchalant when Rook yelps, “No more of this. We’ve got a new location to protect next week and I will not have you squirming under our heavy armor.”

“Gus,” Rook is far from being agreeable. Mouth fidgeting to iterate an excuse or justifiable cause, and yet his gaze wavers when Doc nods with a straight-lined, rigid smile, “Damn it. Alright, you win.”

“There’s no winner here,” Scribbling an eligible instruction for the medication, Doc squints to check if he has written the necessary details, “Just two colleagues who understand each other. I know where you’re coming from but I’d like to say you aren’t the loser. We don’t need to play a game with no real prize.”

“I guess so,” Rook stretches the shirt as wide as possible to not scrape on anything. It takes a while for him to wrestle against fabric, but the end result isn’t as satisfying, “Ugh. Feels like I’m in the middle of a sweaty summer.”

Doc shrugs, “Another reason to leave the hive alone. No injury, no ointment all over your body.” 

“You said it. Thanks, Gus.” Rook leaves with a carefree wave, but his shoulders are limp. Believe it or not, Doc wished for Rook’s success. The challenge can be interpreted in many different ways; a fun prank, a welcome party, or a test of bravery. Rook didn’t seem to care as much until the biohazard skunk man began to boast his feat. 

The first version of his story was accurate to the video footage, but it snowballed into an epic tale. Smoke is a man who welcomes undivided attention so of course he returned the favour by adding thrills, exaggerations and a weird sense of pride, _‘Bet no one can do it better than us. Right, lads?’_ Rook, knowing Doc’s strong opinion against the challenge, never expressed an interest. But apparently his ears were wide open.

Doc thought his fellow GIGN colleagues had better common sense; that was until Rook visited his infirmary while looking like a were-hedgehog. _‘I thought I’d try.’_ A quick wink as a substitute-apology. Doc forgave him and perhaps it was his mistake to be lenient; that’s why Rook assumed it’s okay to try again. _People learn from trial and error, but was it right for Doc to treat Rook like a rebellious young blood?_ Hardly. Not all are wise in their mid-twenties and Doc cannot vouch for himself if such an event happened fifteen years ago. Competitive flare burns brighter on restless youth, bountiful with energy and vigour.

A couple of soft knocks break Doc’s chain of thought, “Yes?”

“Gus, promise us you won’t get angry.” Rook is breathing rather heavily, but it’s easy to visualise a wider smile.

“Great. That’s gonna assure him,” Sarcasm comes across better when Twitch says it, “Okay. You don’t have to get mad at Julien. It’s not him this time.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that.” Doc groans at the anticipation. He proceeds to open the door anyway, stomach churning with worry and slight frustration.

“Good afternoon.” A familiar giant of a figure shares courteous greetings and the sheer etiquette isn’t enough to soothe bewilderment that surges within Doc. The mason jar is filled upto the brim, but is it the same 12 ounce? Or a bit smaller as Smoke had requested? It’s difficult to tell when the shield bearer has hands that downsize most of what he holds. _Is honey all you can see? Look at the man!_ Doc squeezes his lids shut before opening them again to face a doctor’s nightmare. Montagne stands tall and proud, covered in nature’s acupuncture from head to toe. Even the nets on his head cover have prickles, looking like an age-old pin cushion.

“What makes you think this is good? It won’t be afternoon when you are allowed to leave this place,” Doc searches through the drawer and hands tweezers at Twitch and Rook, “None of you will leave until this is sorted.” 

“It’s okay,” Montagne blinks, “This is better than bullet wounds.” 

“Oh really? I can’t believe you.” Doc plucks off three at once and watches the taller man flinch.

“Be gentle please.”

“I am. _Believe_ me,” Doc proceeds to take five more, “I don’t want to hear what happened and whatever transpired to make you go crazy.”

“Would you like to watch how he did it? Might as well.” Twitch dares to ask and judging by the half-lit enthusiasm within her, Doc can only guess how many times she tried to persuade them against the idea.

“Later. I will definitely catch up later.” Doc grimaces at a pile on the plate and they’re all from a small region of Montagne’s ever-broad bicep. He then finds out how much can a man endure still, and the close relation between pain threshold and mental strength. If there is a personification of a mountain itself, it definitely resides within Gilles Touré. Every pluck makes the shake and twitch, but never a complaint or groan. It’s a two hours job and to Doc’s disappointment, Rook’s eyes shone with awe and respect rather than fear. 

When they finally have a chance to apply the same ointment on Montagne, Twitch plugs in the SD cards from her endeared drone. The perspective is recognisable for the attackers but unfamiliar to those who defend. Montagne is more than colossal from angle, which amplifies his presence against the beehive that looks comparatively tiny from where the drone stands. During the whole ten minutes worth of footage, Montagne stays close to the source of honey. No matter the density of bees swarming around him, no matter the white t-shirt turns slightly beige from collecting all the bee stings, he stands still while gouging their lair. There are occasional faint howls from far back, to which Doc assumes it’s Twitch urging her senior to come back. Did Montagne listen to her? Only when he was happy to seal the lid, looked down at the drone to say, “To be a proud member of GIGN, we endure what most can’t,” and walked away.


	6. Spetsnaz - ‘Whole’some_and_organic.mp4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans are smart. Usually.

> _Organised. Tactical. Ferocious. Qualities shared between human and bee-asts alike. But Mars has a special plan for those who forsakes all of the above._

“Where do I begin?” **  
**

“From the very start.” This is the fourth time she repeats the same question. No, they aren’t sitting in a dimly lit interrogation chamber with some hardass law enforcers peeping at them behind a huge black mirror. A work bench still sticky with residual grease from the latest gadget maintenance, but Ash might as well have wiped her side clean from dragging her laptop around. A busy garage bustling with people all around. What a place to have a conversation that’s supposed to be private?

“It’s the same as what you’ve heard from the others.” Glaz flicks off a tiny fluff that hangs on the collar, “Aren’t you the busy bee around here?”

“Yes, and your men got me buzzing around everywhere.” Ash cocks a brow but reciprocates the humour.

“So why waste your time with me?” 

“Because I haven’t heard enough. Seriously, how do you cope with them?” She spams the enter key to push away three entries that are near-empty, then creates a fourth for the man opposite to her.

He leans in, “Yes, I’m coping,” Elbows on table and fingers intertwined to make a net for the lower half of his face to rest on; those blue eyes are stern and stoic but Ash can almost see a hidden sneer, “Suppose I need to fill you in the details.” 

The Russians had been the witnesses. They saw it all; Utter defeat from those who launched the idea, a huge triumph with questionable validity and an admirable endurance that seemed borderline idiotic. Upon finding they would be the next, the Spetsnaz gathered for an informal group discussion. 

“Senaviev did mention that you all drank.”

“Oh, probably the first of many occasions. We had another right before the ‘challenge.’” Glaz sctraches his back and assures it was water. Anything can resemble the said liquid when contained in a plastic bottle.

He continues to elaborate each of their opinions. Fuze, for obvious reasons, couldn’t care less and decided to take a nap. Tachanka rambled about Montagne, a rant to ridicule such a dull codename which gradually changed into an odd mix of praise and insult, _‘Mountain! Is that what a mountain does? Mountains don’t self-harm or become full of themselves. What a fool for your so-called honour?’_

Kapkan, on the other hand, glared at the handed-down items from the GIGN. It was as if he intended to intimidate the mason jar and scooper, ready to pounce on them if they were ever to move, “Maxim was angry at you.”

“Me?” Ash halts in the middle of typing. In no way she will cower, but the trapmaster is capable of making the mock mission her personal hell when they are on less-than-favourable terms. 

“Well, more like your entire group. I have no doubt about you and Campbell, but the other two are perceived as exceptional.” 

“You mean eccentric,” She sighs at the notion. Only if those two would act half the image they show outside of base. Thermite and Pulse are elite of high renown and they exude a sleek professional edge at the workplace, but all the cold exterior melts away when off duty. And this is the direct result of their tension-relieving hobbies, “So what set him off?”

_‘What trash. It lacks planning,’_ Kapkan chucked the folder away, _‘Where’s the liberty to use other tools? A hay to burn? Another jar to trap the queen bee? Gloves? A_ hunting _knife?’_ There wasn’t a single thing he approved of the challenge. Inefficient this, impractical that. The man of wild disregarded the ordeal as disrespect to nature.

“I never took him as an environmentalist.”

“He cares to a certain extent, but don’t tell him I said that. He’s had enough of being misunderstood as someone he’s not.” Glaz glances behind his back and rubs on the side of his rib.

“No wonder why he ripped the folder right in front of my face,” Ash recounts an interaction that happened an hour ago. A pure act of destruction and passive-aggressive protest; Kapkan delivered his message clear and loud before leaving without a word. That interview took a mere minute, which was way shorter than Fuze, who was the first to show up, “Kessikbayev had some things to tell me even though he fell asleep while you guys had your discussion. How come?”

“What did he tell you?” Glaz hums.

“Apparently there was a rude awakening.” Ash paraphrased what he had told her. It was more along the lines of, _‘Those nutcases are crazier than you think. I’m not doing jack shit to clean up their messes.’_

“He’s giving me more credit than I deserve.” He pats on his thighs, sounding not too fond of what he had just heard.

“You’re setting yourself apart from them. Does that mean you at least tried to stop your teammates?” Ash swaps the screen with a masterful alt-tab combo to reveal the video footage. 

“I didn’t _agree_ to their plan.” He squints while leaning back away from her, but the way his leg shakes is far from looking composed.

“Are you sure about that?” She spins the laptop around to share what she watched far too many times. 

The absence of audio accentuates the visual narrative. Angles sway to far left until it shakes, allowing the audience to assume that whoever was recording has bumped into something. A man in white singlet comes within the shot. His robust backside and intensely developed shoulders are strong hints of who it could be, but the face is concealed due to head cover. The other man in a blue striped, skin tight shirt is identified as Kapkan; he nods at the camera and shakes the glass bottle with transparent content. Each of them takes one swig and proceeds to walk out. The perspective turns bright white due to sudden flare from strong sunlight, but the scenery is easily recognisable when the colours return. A few more shaky angles and the two men are standing next to a familiar oval of grey. Who would think of using a scooper like a mallet? The buff lunatic in white singlet did. Despite the lack of sound, the way he swings creates an almost illusionary ‘thwack.’ Heavy blows in rapid succession, then a harsh pull to severe the connection between hive and branch. All the effort, the blood and sweat glistening on his tree trunk of a bare neck. The ending shot is a panned out portrait of the man twisting the hive on top of an open mason jar, making sure the glass brim cuts into the wax. Kapkan and the man hold it up high together, the most bizarre trophy that can pass as a modern new-age sculpture. One can title it ‘Militant society on a fragile pedestal,’ or be simpler and say it’s a weird ice cream on a cone except the ice cream is honey flavoured hard wax with living bee chocolate chips, and the waffle is a glass jar for that extra crunch. 

“Tell me. What happens after this?” Ash has an appetite for espresso in venti size. 

“We brought the hive in, placed it in the lounge area and now there’s a professional exterminator on their way.” He sighs and reaches inside of his shirt from the collar. The same fluff is caught between his fingers and it twitches.

“Not only that. Now we all have to sleep in this cramped room that smells like petrol. Thanks to you and your friends.” She throws an arm around, almost bumping into whoever lay on top of the nearby bench. Not all of the twenty operators are shoved into the workshop, but some who need to stay for a night shift have nowhere to rest.Thank lord for gifting them with bee infestation. The bees should thank him too, for he gave them an opportunity for revenge.

“Have some water. It keeps you hydrated.” A meek response. Glaz sighs as he snatches the bottle away from Tachanka who embodies the concept of swole in many different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is influenced by [kiki_92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiki_92/pseuds/kiki_92) who had an idea that “I can see some trying to be a smartass and get the whole nest,” and as soon as I read her words I was like “That’s a big Tachanka energy.” THank you homie!!


	7. GSG 9 - Who_dare_summon_demons.mp4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't tempt what you can't handle in good faith.

> _Beealzebub needs more than a pentagram to answer your call. He seeks power.  
> _

A week had passed since the infestation incident. Many were relieved to spend the night back at their dorm in peace, but not all appreciated what is best for them. Some CTUs objected to the leeway given to GSG 9. Unfair for them to miss out on the fun, concerned they are ostracised, and sneer at their luck for being able to dodge a bullet. Those who showed genuine care were Doc’s teammates and they truly wished for the German’s well-being. IQ was beyond thankful of their fortune, an abstract concept she usually scoffs at, but at times it feels nice to know that odds are in her favour. The content doesn’t last long until something catches her attention outside the window as she strolled past the corridor. At first she wonders if the stormy weather and faint rain droplets force an optical illusion of a sort, but there’s no mistake in seeing the grey oval almost looks like a sizable orb; a forbidden fruit that’s capable of chasing humankind away. 

Someone had mentioned the return of their nightmare and she didn’t believe them until right this moment, “Elias, look.” IQ fixates a gaze at the tiny horror while her hand wanders behind to reach out to the said teammate.

“Yeah?” Blitz is brought closer to the glass and a gasp falls on his lips, “No. Is that what I think it is?”

“I think so. But didn’t the exterminators finish their job?”

“They did,” Jäger joins in, “But only to an extent of killing a small amount of working bees in the base. It’s better to bring out the hive where the queen is, and place it somewhere else further away from our base.”

“So if they did take the hive away,” IQ’s brows quiver, “Far away as you’ve said, then why do I see the same pandora’s box here, right where it was before?”

“Vengeance.” Bandit’s whispers have the fellow Germans jump up a bit.

“Those things are insects, Dom. Don’t put human qualities on them like Fabre or Seton.” None other than Jäger understand her references. He vaguely explains her words by rambling the authors’ names and how they are famous for personifying animals to a point where it sounds like novels instead of observational studies.

“That’s your opinion,” Bandit shrugs, “Look. Maybe those bees like that particular tree for a reason, but then are they too stupid to forget about all the dangers they faced because of us? Unlikely. Animals know what’s safe for them. So why are they back here, on the same spot? Not for reasons to survive, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe they’re after the sugars in the pantry,” Jäger takes a side glance towards the cafeteria, “A lot of them were found in the kitchen. It’s the perfect army rations for those who are weak from the recent… hostile encounters.” 

“Not you too!” IQ snaps, losing her patience, “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to have Six remove it.” 

“You can’t. Bees are endangered as they are. It will involve a lot of paperwork.” Jäger is ever so fast at pulling out facts, which frustrates IQ to no end but it’s better than corny, half-assed empty comforts. 

“Yeah. And it’s a conjoined project between Trace and the psych guy,” Blitz squints as his memory fails to remember the said man’s name, “That guy. Well, we need to talk to them about it, not Six herself.”

Bandit rolls his eyes, “Talk here and talk there. Why don’t we take care of this with our own hands?” 

“What’re we going to do? Pluck off the live drone bomb and chuck it away?” IQ is aware of the rising sass level that rips through the filter and she doesn’t care, at least one bit.

“No. But we’re engineers. Knows a whole lot about electricity,” Bandit ducks down to stare at the thick graphite blanket covering the skies, “It’s bound to storm soon. I’d think there might be an oncoming thunder.”

“There’s no thun-” 

IQ places a finger on Jäger’s mouth, “Shh. Yeah, there might be. You never know.”

“Yup. Nature’s a fickle matter.” Bandit nods at her, his grin vaguely visible through the beard.

Blitz seems to pause a little until an imaginary light bulb brightens his face, “And we might as well get some honey before it rains more, right?” He winks, “So we’ve got something to show and have the others get off of our backs.”

Jäger catches on and nudges at Blitz, “I’ll volunteer. You two can get started and I can probably sprint before getting stung too much.” 

“That’s the plan, then. Let’s get to it.” Hence it begins. This small and yet classified mission between the GSG 9 will go unnoticed, but their deed and noble cause might save a lot of people’s time and health in the far future. 

Blitz and Jäger face some challenge in accomplishing their part. They walk up close to the hive, an eerily quiet fortress, a calm before the storm. The two men wonder if they are being watched by thousands of eyes eagerly studying every frame bits of their movement. Palms become clammy from chilly wet climate and tension, but Blitz keeps the camera still, recording Jäger and his cautious advance to the source of honey. The result isn’t a major success. As soon as Jäger taps the hive with a scooper, all hell lets loose and he’s covered in swarm. A blink-second decision to hold onto the hive and push in the scooper for a deep gashing dig. The thin layer is coated inside the concave part of scooper and Jäger dunks it into the mason jar before sprinting off. Blitz has everything captured in the camera and dashes after Jäger, but he finds it hard to close the distance between him and his friend who are a certified roadrunner of all flankers. 

Meanwhile IQ and Bandit build an antenna. The kind that is supposed to improve reception and transmission in case of emergencies. Not many question the exact details of their spontaneous project; they are more surprised at the newfound dynamic between text-book model engineer and junkyard wizard in disguise. IQ claims that they will install the antenna outside for a test run; a statement that would be perceived as erratic if Bandit said the same. The former biker gang couldn’t care for his infamous cred, but he regards IQ’s squeaky clean reputation useful at most. 

The preparation phase is done. The gatherers show the video footage to IQ and Bandit, to which they have a good chuckle at Jäger’s demise. Harry and the FBI team approves what is recorded and the amount of honey in the mason jar. Jäger then starts to groan in pain, grabbing the entire attention to allow the engineers to sneak out. Installing the rod isn’t difficult, but having it to manipulate the lightning to destroy the hive rather than the entire tree? Impossible. Who dares to plug a lightning rod to channel the sky-sent current that will end up burning down the whole tree? The rod is merely a distraction, a Tesla-inspired show to have the onlookers to witness the zap close to (but never touching) the tree. The real destroyer will be Bandit’s car batteries and they will be plugged to the rod to provide the surge. The heavy rain prevents bees from venturing out and it allows Bandit to push a copper stick into the hive and pinch alligator clips on both ends. 

“Tent is set up.” IQ taps on Bandit by his shoulder. It would be nicer to wait for the whole thing to blow up from indoors, somewhere far warmer than the outside where everything is drenched and terrible, but they need to stay around, supervise and get rid of the evidence when they achieve their goal. There’s no way that the Germans will be remembered as arsonists and gain a similar notoriety as the Russians. Bandit nods, checks the wires and sets up, then joins IQ inside the khaki coloured shelter that’s well hidden behind other trees. 

Hours pass and the hot water bottles have lost the warmth. IQ and Bandit are crouching to retain any necessary body heat at this point, then both have faced worse condition before. 

“What time is it?”

“Nearly one after midnight.” Bandit has a crack in his murmur, but he dares not cough.

“Maybe we should rip it off from the tree and let them drown in rain water. Still quite discrete and seemingly accidental, wouldn’t you say?” There’s a stream of vapour from her sigh.

“But they won’t die. The queen will still survive,” He scratches a spot under the scruffy chin, “We must put an end to this. One quick zap to fry them all.”

“It better happen before we get hypother-” A blinding flare shuts her up. Instant flashbang and darkness settles back in within a second, then a deafening roar shakes them to the core.

“Fuck yes.” Bandit refuses to contain a cackle when he sees black smoke fizzing out from the hive.

“Quiet. Get the extinguisher ready.” IQ is gleeful no doubt, but she is high on alert for any unpredictable errors.

The memoirs from young and wild days dance within him, more or so at the sight of raw power from an uncontrollable force, “I need to check.” 

“Dom, come back!” Bandit is already jogging towards the smoky husk, then he halts almost immediately. With the quickest u-turn she has ever seen from the guy, IQ’s stomach starts to know with worry and anxiety, “What? What’s wrong?”

“We need to get everything in the bag. Now.” Bandit shoves the tent up, folding the entire frame into its portable form.

“Why?” IQ leaps out in question but proceeds to listen to her colleague. As she nears the site of annihilation, the first thing to notice is a faint whistle. She pays no attention to the unusual noise, thinking it’s from the rain fall. Then as she walks under the tree where rain hits the ground less, it all becomes clearer. Whimper? Whizzing? Whining that’s akin to a hurt dog or squealing from smaller species as their flesh, bones and intestines are being seared alive? Her lips dry up despite all the moisture in the air. Apprehension tightens tension in jaws, breath becomes heavier as she reaches to pull the copper stick out-

## S̴̳̤̝̼̤̜͌͌͐Q̸̩̖̲̲̍̍̂́̊͗͒̿̈̚͘Ư̵̱̓͂̈́̀͆̌̽̈́̏̅̄͋͘͝Ę̸̛̛̣̘͖̥͎͍̣͖͔͈͉͖̞̆̆̇̊̏̀̄̑͊͠Ę̶͎̼̔̾̒̔̐̈́͒͒̄̔ͅE̸̡̱̣͖͓̍̾̔͋͆͠Ę̶̧͉̜͇̗͍̺̯̣͎̲̯̌ͅE̴̥͓͉̱͇͍̥̋̌̂͒͆̽̅̑͂̀̕ͅE̸̞̗̯͘E̸̡̖͙̪̥̥͎͙̋͗͘͜ͅĘ̸̡̛̳͉͔͚͙̥͊̐̆͋̓̓̋͆̎̓̈́̈́͠͝E̶̛͇͌̈̓̅̕͘͝E̴̲̓͗̎̄̊̔͊̄̈́È̴͖̗̍E̶͕̗͓̮͉̻̲͔̜̝̜̖̥͂̈́̓̇̌̕͘ͅȨ̵͓̟͙̝̙̯͓͎̩̖̰́͌̾̚E̶̙̪̪̜̗͖̝̤̤̞̲̲̦̺̳͗Ê̶͖̖̻̆̿̏̄͂̊͐͊͌̍͘͜E̸̢̝̙̜̜̣͇͓͚̻̻̥̠͂̍̀̈́̏͊̀̓̕Ȩ̵̖͎̜͖̯̙̦̬̤̰̠̈́̀͛̈̅̽̀̋͝Ě̵̙͉̖̼̹͈͈̜̮̖͕̌̔́̓͂̎̈́̈͌͜E̸̼̼̼̮̬̒̐̈͑̓̈́Ȩ̷͔͍̳͓̤͕̩̝̬͔̗̔̋͗́̃̆́̓̄͑͗̾̅͘E̵̡̡̛̗̭̠̠̜̣̺̱̼̪̍͛͐͋̏Ĕ̸͈̱̩̎̂͋̕̕͝Ȩ̷̣͖̠͕̳̼̻͚̮̪̰̰̲͋ͅẼ̴̡̞͉͙̭͎̦̞̻͖͉̯̬̄͑͒̋̆̽̾̾͐̃̑͂͠E̸͈̫̫͇̜̗͙̹͍̮̩̦̹̭͌͜E̶̡̡̡̢̡̫̰͇̤̦͕̫͓̱̞̍̒̓̈́̇̋͌̎͘̚͠E̶̡̡̨̬̩͓̦̟̗̝̜̖͒͛̏̑͂̂̓͜Ễ̴̠͂Ę̵͖̳̦̹͈̻̇͒̌͊̃͛E̶̡̦̣͙̹̭͎̙̭̖͉̾̾̿́̉̍̋͌͗Ẻ̵̻̺̥̮͎͉̜͚̾͑͘̚E̵̡̨̧̧͇̫͖̟̥͈͉͕͑̔̎͛̊̓̀̕͜͝͝ͅȨ̴̡̛̛̻̪̞̝͕̫̥̂͊͐͗̆̋͆̉͝E̶̛̖̘̭̺̫̦͐̂͌̅̈́E̷͖͎̺̼̎͂̊̉͌͛Ë̷͙̗́̋͋̍̈́Ẹ̷̖̳̺̟̒̂͌̑̌̏̔È̶̛͕͇̦̜͇̪̞͗̄͊̐̌̈́̇̈́̓̚̕Ë̵̛͍̽̑̐̔̈́͊͝͝E̸̛̲̣̼̳͖̹̼͎͎̍̒̇͗͛̓̒̃͊͑̊̐͌ͅḘ̵̢̨̢̛̙̩̤̫̫̥̤͖͈̲̑͐̈͑̅̾̏̈̀͠͝E̸͖̺͎̰̻̣̊̒̾̌̅͋̇͠ͅE̶͇̙͈͔͇̖̺̟̾͐̀̑̌̕

“Ohmygosh-” 

“Hurry!” Bandit shoves all the tools into a duffel bag and pulls IQ away from the demon’s screech. Her hands grips tight on whatever she can hold; the alligator clips, car batteries, extra wires, and that’s all she can remember while running back into the garage as if their life depended on speed. Everything is silent other than the drumming from the above. Neither speaks a word while drying up the equipment and putting them back in the right place. 

IQ dares not to mention whatever ungodly being they faced against, then she whispers something like, “I think that was the pressure being released. You know when hot air escapes, they give people a fright?”

Bandit usually denounces such inaccurate assumptions and quickly corrects her with sass, but his rattle mind is inclined to believe her false theory and say, “Yeah. Yeah, let’s put it at that.”


	8. JTF2 - A_peace_offering.mp4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strictly speaking, they're allowed.

> _Patience is a tree whose root is bitter, but its fruit is very sweet._

A couple of months have passed. The challenge itself hadn’t been a topic of discussion, as it was a fleeting distraction to many. Team Rainbow, as they are elites among their CTUs, had been rightfully busy in fending off the mysterious terrorist group all over the world. The memories were recorded differently to each and every; some forgot, some had a sliver of the event and some prayed to never see it in their wildest dreams. So when the newest operators joined in, it took another week for a certain American to revive the short-lived tradition.

“I still don’t see the point whatever this is,” Frost read over the proposal. When she shakes the papers, bits of dust fall, “Rainbow certainly has an interesting bunch.”

“Seems like that,” Buck skims over her shoulder, “But not impossible. It’s interesting at _best_.”

“You want to play their game?”

“Sure. I take that you won’t.” He picks up the head cover and flips it over to scratch on the stitches that binds the net and fabric. 

Frost scoffs, “Excuse me,” She takes out a pen and underlines the subheading ‘props,’ “I’m not going to sit around and do nothing.”

“But only one representative is allowed. Or else you’re eager to become a porcupine.” Buck reads over again.

“No, you can volunteer. I’m suggesting to be a little wiser about how we do this.” From her bag comes out a notepad. It certainly has received quite the attention and touch, judging by the dirtied corners and tethered edged. She opens it to reveal a whole new world of intricacy; diagrams, paragraphs, equations and post it notes taped down.

“Tina,” He lets out a long sigh, “We’re not going to make this an hour long job.”

“Who says? It won’t be too crazy, I promise,” A click to ready the ball point pen, and she licks the tip with her tongue, “Realistic and achievable. Like how we do things.” Frost doesn’t need eons to draw what she envisions. A tree with a hive, more trees around with a circle that’s similar to hive, and the jar under the real hive. Buck catches on but muses in skepticism, but Frost starts another drawing on a new page and names it plan B.

“Alright. You’ve got me sold.”

-

The deed is done and the Canadians manage to fill not only one, but two jars, but the video causes viral reactions which are mostly negative. 

“Your honour, I hereby stand to object against the evidence and nullify the achievement, which is a blatant trickery.” 

“Jack, cut the crap. Seriously, where are you getting these ideas for role plays?” Ash pushes herself off from the cushy armchair in the lounge, but she is promptly pulled down by Thermite.

“Please. Continue, Mr Prosecutor.” He scratches the spot where he got stung. It has healed over, but the itch has become almost a habit. 

“Yeah, go on. We’ve done nothing wrong.” Frost slides the two full jars across the table. Without a doubt, the viscous gold of sweet goodness.

Without further ado, Pulse plays the video. One can assume that the camera is on a tripod, placed a few meters away from the beehive to capture the bottom of the tree as well. Buck walks in; it’s only his right side visible but the whole scene can be convinced as an advertisement for Burt’s Bee product with the way sunlight scatters upon him and his lumberjack-ish attire.

“Objection! He’s wearing too many layers.” Pulse clicks a pause.

“That’s how I dress normally.” Buck, arguably, is sitting right next to Frost in denim overalls, checkered flannel and sports socks. 

“How long ago was this video taken? Two days ago!” Pulse is quick to look up the property of the mp4 file, “Don’t you think it’s a little bit too intentional for him to be wearing the same attire as shown in this video?”

Frost lowers her legs, “Actually, it’s quite plausible. It’s all he wears and this guy doesn’t change as often as he should.” She shoots him a glare, a gesture that tells history to be told another time. Buck merely shrugs and remains quiet.

“Shush. You’ve no right to make an issue out of that,” Ash snaps at Pulse and Thermite, “You and him. I had to hose you down on the fifth day.” 

“Let’s get back on the trial, your honour.” Thermite attempts to pat on his judge but he dares not, for her mood determines the outcoming of this court.

Play the video and all the attention is on Buck on screen. There are few white spots whizzing around him, and yet none seem to be touching him at all. Him and the bee house, air still and stagnant without a breeze. The staredown ends when he kneels, patting on the spot beneath the hive and places an empty mason jar. He then twist his body left to look directly under the hive, and starts to pinch the bottom-

“Foul play! I bet he’s holding a small knife right there!”

“No knife,” Buck holds his finely calloused hands up, “No need for such a thing.”

Back on the video, again. Is he poking? More like pinching. He works on it for a while until a droplet of brown slides along his wrist. This mad man was picking apart the wax with his finger nails-

“He did not use the scooper!”

“Shut up and watch.” Ash shoves the noisy baldy aside and snatches the mouse and keyboard away.

Soon enough a thin line of honey falls, and Buck _does_ make a use of the scooper to widen the hole. Sparse drip thickens into a stream that lands into the jar; even from such distance, the audience can see a milky-cream layer foaming as nectar folds into ripples. 

“And that’s the whole video. Of him sitting idle while the jar fills up, and replacing it with another,” A triumphant note soon dissipates as Pulse realises how anticlimactic it sounded when said aloud, “My point is, that this isn’t an honest work.”

“How so? You saw me gathering honey. Fair and square,” Buck lifts the hem of his pants, “I even got battle scars.” A few red blotches on his ankles and hands; spots he couldn’t tuck in due at the time. 

“You’re meant to use the scooper to scoop!” Thermite claws into his back, “That’s what you’re meant to do.”

“Is it written on the proposal?” Frost interjects.

“Yes!” The two enraged men flip through the papers. They read, scan, skim, shoot lasers from their gaze to graze along letters from letters, and their fiery temper simmer down to muddled bemusement.

“Is it there?” Frost can’t hide a sneer, “And does it say anything about the teammates helping out?”

“Well,” Thermite reads again, refusing to blink despite the whites of his eyes drying out, “Not really. But it is required for only one person to act on the challenge.” 

“That means it won’t be a breach of rules for me to slather nearby trees with sugar water.” Frost shows her side of the video, unafraid and confident.

“Wait, no. That _is_ considered a foul play because you aren’t meant to meddle with the bees.” Pulse pushes the sunglasses back up, but they keep on slipping.

Buck places an arm behind Frost, resting it on the back of the couch, “But it’s not a written rule. All of you had the chance to make a thorough plan in gathering the honey, rather than charging in like a greedy bear. Hell, even bears are smarter than you.” 

Thermite regains his temper, “I faced the challenge like a man!”

“And we faced it like a human. A civilised human who are adept at using tools.” 

“Enough,” Ash rises from a brief rest. There’s a deep burgundy mark on her forehead from having it pressed down on her makeshift forearm pillow, “This is ridiculous. Always has been, and always will be. I’m not going to sit around here and waste my Saturday afternoon.”

“So we’re good to go? Challenge accomplished?” Frost’s bright smile forces Pulse and Thermite to squint, for they are blinded with pettiness.

“Whatever. Yeah, sure.” Ash waves them off and decides to leave the seat once again.

“Eliza!” 

“No, Jordan. I’m not going to let you modify whatever you’ve written there. We have too many shits to do other than _this_.” She rolls up the proposal and shoves it into her pocket. Thwarting off the grabby hands, Ash exits the room and the two man-childs follow after her.


	9. SEALs - The_only_easy_day_was_Yesterday.mp4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bond that sticks with you, no matter what.

> _Two forces collide but only one shall stand in the end._

Three months. Even longer interval before the Black Ice operators joined the Rainbow. The beehive had been thriving and growing, even wandering back around the vicinity of the base. Not many seem to mind or care, seeing them the same as flies around. But not Thermite and his faithful buddy Pulse. The two leered at the queen’s domain, eagerly awaiting for the next challenger to satisfy their catharsis. That’s why they pretty much flew down the hall upon discovering their new colleagues are from America; all the more, an elite from the esteemed SEALs.

“Done deal! When can we start?” Blackbeard slams the stacks of papers down. His smile plastered behind the thick black bush, hence the origin of his code name.

“Actually, it’s just a one person job,” Thermite shares the giddiness and gathers the props, “Strictly one. No help from the other at all.”

“Easy. I’ll do it then,” Valkyrie picks up the proposal and reads through, “Right there. It says only one can do it.”

“Oh yes,” Blackbeard strokes his luscious hair, “My mistake. Sure, I’ll do it.”

“One person-” Pulse cocks his head, wondering if the two have understood the rule at all.

Valkyrie flashes a grin, “Yeah, I know. So I will do it.”

“I’m not trying to sound like a spoiled child, but I did call the shotgun first.” Blackbeard reciprocates the expression, but there’s no way of learning whether his friendliness is genuine when the sunglasses are hiding those eyes.

“You are being childish. Why don’t you step down and back off?” She walks closer to Thermite and reaches out for the props.

“Castellano, chill. It’s all fun and games. An adventure! You know how much I love adventures.” He jogs to grab onto the scooper before her. 

“Everything is a game for you,” Valkyrie also grabs the tool, unwilling to let go, “So why don’t you go and play other games out there? I gotta take this one.”

Pulse leans in for a whisper into his friend’s ear, “What the fuck is going on?”

Thermite shrugs but holds tight on the scooper that’s too small for three people to hold onto, “I don’t know what’s going on, but it has to be one of you. Or else you fail the challenge.”

“Sounds fair. We will let you know which one of us will do it.” Much to Thermite’s relief, Valkyrie gives them a curt nod without any objection or protest. 

Blackbeard seems to agree as well, “Yes. Give us about a week.” 

“Okay?” Thermite finds an urge to ask the specific timeframe, but he decides against the curiosity and pries off the scooper from the other two’s iron tight grip. Watching them walk out in full volume bicker doesn’t help to suppress the need to know, the keen interest in finding out what will happen, but he shouldn’t fret. It’s all bound to happen sooner than he thought, as in at the brink of next morning.

-

In the stark of the dawn, Thermite and Pulse are awoken by a maddening whistle blow at 0500 sharp. Without a chance to brush teeth or wash their faces, they are carried down to the swimming pool and in each men’s hands, there lay a couple of clipboards and stopwatches. Through his dry and blurry vision, Thermite manages to recognise the words and names; a compact list of workout activities and time stamps. 

“Hey, five minutes for five hundred yards swimming,” Pulse yawns while scratching his stubbled chin, “That’s pretty impressive.”

“Thanks,” Valkyrie folds the large towel on a chair. Whenever she stretches, the hardened biceps and back muscles ripple as if they’re embodiment of tenacity itself, “I’m about to beat it today.”

“Sure you will.” A deeper chortle attracts the unsuspecting judges’ attention. Blackbeard stands tall and proud, his entire body flexing, the very essence of power eager to pounce in action.

“Can you explain what’s going on?” Thermite squints at cold white lights above, and feeling a genuine jealousy at Pulse who miraculously had the time to nab his favoured sunglasses.

“We’ve decided to choose the participant through a competition,” Blackbeard spreads his legs wide and leans down, having his face upside down to see Thermite slouching against the bench, “Whoever beats the most of their personal record gets to partake your challenge.”

“Couldn’t you have done it by rock paper scissors?” Thermite misses his warm blanket already.

“No can do. Only the strongest can have what they want,” Valkyrie throws a cold splash towards the sleepy Texan, “And true strength comes from winning against myself. That’s what you taught me, Jenson.”

“Exactly. Nothing less from my student.” Blackbeard stands on the starting stool, readying for the take off by shaking his buttocks. The way his balls are bulging in tri-shaped swimwear is an unwarranted eye-candy for those who aren’t eager to stare. 

Judging by the other four activities, Thermite can vaguely predict how long they will last. If all go smoothly, maybe he will be able to sleep ten minutes before the actual alarm bell rings, “Alright. Let’s get this over with.” 

Here’s the brief explanation of the event in chronological order. Swimming, Valkyrie stomps Blackbeard by being ten seconds earlier than her previous record. Pushups, Valkyrie does three more but Blackbeard tops it off by doing five more. Sit-ups become confusing to count when they both do over a hundred, so they have to do it again and Blackbeard wins. Pull ups take longer than it should, because it’s the only activity that has no time limit. Both insist they can do more while hanging limp on the bar, so Pulse and Thermite decide to put time pressure by counting sixty. Valkyrie breaks through by regaining her stamina like the relentless waterfall that she is. 

Hence tie breaker depends on the 1.5 mile run. After five minutes rest, the two SEALs stand by the entrance of the building and set their goal to do four laps around the whole Hereford base. 

“What time is it?” 

“Half past six,” Pulse checks his phone, “There goes our sleep.” 

“It won’t take long,” Valkyrie ties her shoelaces tight, “See you in eight minutes.” 

“I can have you guys back to your dorm in five.” Blackbeard jogs on spot. And with a simple count to three, they are gone. Neither Pulse and Thermite bother to run with them, knowing the competitive flame won’t allow them to cheat. 

Thermite doesn’t mind the chilly touch on his bottom while resting himself on the steps, “What bothers me, is that they’re taking this way too seriously.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re thinking now? Could have thought about it sooner the day when you gave the proposal to Harishva.” Pulse takes off the sunglasses and rubs away the gunks on his eyelashes. 

“You could’ve stopped me.”

“Why should I? It’s fantastic. Maddening and ingenious.” Pulse chuckles and lunges for a nudge.

“Bro, come on. You’re the only one who can tell me off with these kinda shenanigans.” Thermite looks back at his friend with a similar lighthearted jab, but it’s a surprise to see the other man’s lips pursed within all seriousness.

“I mean it,” Pulse’s stare locks into Thermite’s, “This is better than what you end up doing in your free time. Helps you to keep afloat rather than spiral down.”

“What do you know about my off-time?” Thermite let out a soft cough of laughter and shakes his hand around his crotch, implying a topic that’s private and vulgar. Realising how the joke brings nil reaction, he shrugs and pushes two hands into his pants-pockets, “Damn it. You know me too fucking well.”

“Don’t blame me that you’re an open book,” Pulse eyes out at a strand of bandage sticking out instead of being hidden away, “But yeah. It’s better to see you chasing after something that’s not inside of the lab. No matter how stupid it is.”

Thermite bites for a slight grin, “Not so ingenious anymore?”

“Okay. Let’s call it fun. Like Miles had said. So don’t worry about them being too serious! From what I see, they’re enjoying it in a way we don’t understand.” Pulse then proceeds to imitate their teammate’s words, the way he nicknamed Thermite as ‘sugar’ and ‘honeybee.’ An empty banter to pass time, but entertaining with a touch of warmth nonetheless. In midst of their casual chatter, Blackbeard is the first one to pass by to mark his first lap. Valkyrie follows along not too far. The timestamps are recorded dutifully without missing a beat. Although Valkyrie seems to be the one lagging behind her colleague, she is the victor in the end. As soon as Pulse announces her record being shortened by a minute while Blackbeard a forty-three seconds, she lays flat on the concrete while hecking up a cough mixed with cackle. Victory by her standard, and it’s certainly approved by many. 

The glory is short lived when she finds out how bees are more ferocious and protective than she assumed. Valkyrie succeeds in filling the jar to some extent, but her sweat coated body has attracted more bees than Thermite who had a similar approach to the hive. 

“I think she needed that.” Blackbeard whispers while sitting next to Pulse, shirtless and pungent of body odour.

“Yeah?” Pulse scoots away and groans when Blackbeard inches closer.

“Yeah. Being in Rainbow has been a bit of a nerve wracking experience for her, you know? I think she really wanted to show you guys what she is made out of.”

“Then why didn’t you just let her?” Pulse squints in disbelief. All this time, he could have done this easier without all the trouble.

“Naw. It wouldn’t do her justice. No prize comes easy. It’s the best I can do as her mentor.” Blackbeard wraps his arm around Pulse with a wink, and despite the massive stink bag he is, Pulse is inclined to nod and accept the chummy touch that comes with considerate compassion.


	10. BOPE - Can_it_loser.mp4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nature friendly. Sort of.

> _What you see is what will be. No question. Only the end result under her rules._

The mason jar stands, quite full and filled with honey, “This may be a short explanation of how the new operators from Brazil have completed the bee challenge, but trust me. I think it’s safer to know _less_.”

“Wait, operators? Are they a case of two-team cheaters again?” There is a breathy sigh in his words and Thermite has every right to sound tired before knowing the full story. 

“Well, no. She claims to have done this alone, but I have my doubts.” Pulse plays the video, which apparently was extremely difficult to attain. If Twitch wasn’t there to be the mediator, the jar would have shattered on the spot.

The footage starts right off the bat from an angle that follows behind the newly appointed stealth master; quite upclose to have her CTU name screaming back at the camera. She turns back to reveal the ghastly face paint, and the sheer leer alone has Thermite flinching as he remembers how their first encounter went earlier today. A few seconds later she wears the head cover and twirls the scooper in her hand. Then as she nears the massive hive (which Thermite wonders if it has grown bigger over the past months,) a sudden explosion of grey cloud envelops the entire scenery. 

“Is this a smoke grenade?” Thermite squints as if that’ll allow him to see through an already recorded view.

“Yeah, but it’s not the kind I’ve seen before,” Pulse pauses, “Oh. Maybe I might have seen it recently. Don’t know from where, though.”

Nothing is visible at the moment and the camera seems to stay still. Another explosion of smoke hides whatever is happening beyond the concealed area, and when it all dissipates, there she walks out with golden orange goop dripping from the scooper. The jar, without a doubt, is filled up to the brim. _Perhaps too much to the point of spilling._ And everything turns black.

“That’s it? We don’t even know how she got the honey.” Visibly disappointed and down right confused, Thermite shakes his head at Pulse as if his friend knows the answer.

“I know. But you don’t want to talk to her,” Looks like Pulse has an answer of a sort, “Or even argue against her. It’s not worth it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Confidence or courage, neither resides within his heart as it already had a first-hand experience from the terror she can bring upon, “We need to be able to talk to her about this kind of thing. Especially as a team.” Prideful bravado is what motivates him to get moving. The slight bruise under his chin still aches, but whatever incident happened at mock-mission is a separate issue when off-duty. It’s all part of being a profession and he is confident that the other party would do the same.

-

There she is, still in her uniform and slouching across a couch to have her braid hanging on one of the armrests. Slicing off a mango with a knife that’s definitely not from the kitchen; it’s the real kind, unlike the rubber-coated one to prevent any _serious_ injury during the training session. Thermite can’t help but scratch a spot near his Adam's apple, but proceeds to call out, “Hey there,” Not a glimpse to acknowledge him. She continues to skin the green skin to reveal tart flesh underneath. He lets out a dry cough to try again, “You’re Taina Pereira, right?”

“It’s Caveira for you.” She replies but her attention is still solely focused on the fruit.

“Your mango looks kinda sour. Some honey would go nice with it.” Thermite drags two stools; one for him to take a seat opposite to her and the other for his beloved mason jar. Pulse nearly sits on it but twists away just enough to save his dignity and fetch a stool for himself. 

“Yeah. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Caveira carves in for a deeper gash, and another to rip off a thick strip, “Funny how you’re making the newcomers gather honey for you. Hilarious.”

“It’s not for me. More like a team building exercise. An ice breaker to have people ease into our crew.”

“I thought you couldn’t get any funnier. Do you see me smiling at you?” Finally her head turns towards the Americans. No, more like a quick click. Although she has wiped the skull off her face, Thermite now realises the war paint was a mere amplifier. The tension, the kind that prey would feel from a predator. Thermite can feel hairs rising, seeing how she is far from appearing happy or pleased.

“No. But neither am I,” Intimidation is only skin deep and Thermite has more than enough life experience to be discouraged, “I saw the video footage and it seems like you’ve cheated.”

She directs the attention towards Pulse, “Did I now? How so?”

“The smoke screen is definitely shady.” Pulse tosses his phone next to the jar, but decides against the idea and holds it within his hand to replay the video.

“And I can’t help but to notice,” Thermite rolls his photo gallery to show the previous attempts, “Your honey is slightly lighter than the usual.”

“Right,” She goes back to the mango, readily bites into the pit and crinkles her nose, “The jar. Is it empty or full?”

“It’s full, but-”

“It is. So I’ve done my job,” She taps her knife against the glassy surface, a couple of dull tings, “Now leave.”

“Afraid not. You’ve yet to prove anything.” Thermite refuses to back down.

“And where are your sting marks?” Pulse raises the important question, “Those bees are far from calm and docile.”

“Sting marks, you say,” Caveira muses over, “Like I would ever show them to you.”

“Your arms! How can they be so smooth and seamless?” He is on a hot streak this evening. Thermite couldn’t be any more proud of his friend than ever.

She closes her eyes for a moment, then snaps them open, “You boys really wanna do this, huh? You really want to mess with me.” The leather creaks and wails as she fixes herself to sit up properly.

Thermite raises an eyebrow, “Don’t take us wrong. We’re asking for one simple thing, an honest answer.”

Next thing he sees within a second, is a thwack that nearly has him falling off from the stool. The knife is now standing upright next to the jar, its tip digging into a wooden surface. She then hovers a finger, allowing the two men to study the black manicure before it disappears into her holster pocket. There she pulls out a fist, then releases it to scatter small beads tapping on the hard surface of the mason jar lid.

“Are these-” Pulse leans down and retracts almost immediately, “Stingers!” 

“Twenty seven. All from my shoulders and ribs.” 

Thermite does a quick count and they are the right amount, “Wait. Did you pluck these out by yourself?

“Ask me something I don’t know.” Neither of the men need to look to see her eyes rolling back.

“No, no. This doesn’t make sense,” Thermite feels a tingle on his forearms, “There’s no way your arms should be so clean. It’s only been yesterday and you couldn’t have healed that fast. And the fact that you didn’t go to the medical bay is extremely fishy.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Caveira’s gaze glints at his obvious distress, “Some team building exercise this is.”

“Yes. I find it hard to believe you.” He lays the verdict and finds support in his friend nodding along with him.

“Right.” She digs into her pocket and brings out a zippo lighter and sewing kit. One quick clack to open the compact container, and a needle drops out.

Pulse frowns, “What’re you doing?”

“Creating evidence.” A spark to have a wavering flame, which she bathes the pointy end of her needle. After knowing the metal has cooled off, Caveira doesn’t hesitate to poke on her wrist. Not only one, but in several quick succession over her forearms to draw tiny dots of blood from each holes.

“Whoa, whoa! What _are_ you doing?” Thermite reaches out to grab her by the wrist, but he is put to halt when she directs the prickle towards him.

“When these dry over, they will form a scab. And I know for a fact that by the time a bee sting scabs, the inflammation would have gone down. So these are bee stings, as real as they can get.”

“She’s crazy,” Pulse decides to stand back and pulls on Thermite’s shoulder, “I told you this isn’t a good idea.”

“How-” _How did you get in the Rainbow, let alone BOPE?_ The accusation nearly spits itself out from Thermite’s throat, but the better side of his brain won’t allow him to say a word, “This- You’re-”

“Jordan, let’s go. We will deal with her through Harishva.” Pulse pries off the Texan and off they go, hearing a distant huff turning into a soft cackle. They nearly bump into someone else and knock off the black trash bag in his hand, but a brief apology is all they can do before scurrying away from the freak-shock.

The man sighs and rubs on the remaining functional eye, then finds his fellow Brazilian laughing while looking like a patient from a botched acupuncture session, “Girl. You’re a trouble,” He dumps the bag on her legs. The contents spill out, revealing empty plastic squeezy-containers with a cartoonish logo of a bee and honey pot.

“You didn’t have to do anything. They should have seen it laying on the field.” Caveira wipes the beads with her palm and opens one of the containers to drip any remaining sweetness on her mango.

“No. I picked up my bolts to dispose, so these are your waste to sort out. I won’t allow littering.”

“What’re you, captain planet? _Can_ it.” Despite the scowl, she shoves the containers back into the bag and tightens a knot before throwing it into the nearest trash can. It doesn’t land, which turns her grin upside down as she stands up to do it right this time.


	11. SAT - Believe_it_or_not.mp4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't hide what you feel.

_Campfire. Flames warm you and ashes are the remainder of what has ended._

Winter is near, and yet there’s a rekindled heat within his dead-cold, tired brain. What are the chances of seeing your old friend being invited to the renowned international counter-terrorist group? Perhaps not the rarest occurrence, considering him and his old friend are regarded as best of best, and already have a connection through their training sessions. Heck, what can Thermite say? She is his good friend and of course he would put her name when Six asked for recommendations.

So it’s no surprise that he will welcome her with open arms when she walks out from the customs area, throws a mad grin and shouts, “Yumi! You missed me?”

“Oh God. Weird puns again!” She pulls him in for a hug and laughs, “What shall I call you, then? Joestar?”

“Sure! I’m buff as hell. Treat me like one of your Greek God sculptures!” He is quick to put out a pose like a bodybuilder.

“You’re a riot. Of course I missed you,” Yumiko drags her luggage along, making some room for other people walking behind her, “Hey, Jack! Good to see you again.”

“Yeah. _Hee-sashee-boori_ (It’s been a while.)” Pulse puts the sunglasses back on for personal reasons.

“Hey, your Japanese is getting better!” A light slap on his back. She misses on the subtle gasp from him, and little coughs that follow after.

Another voice comes like a murmur behind her, “It’s _hisashiburi_.”

Thermite cocks his head and sees a man wearing the same emblem as his friend. A man who is not too short. Despite looking like someone in his prime, he has an expression that’s akin to a grumpy geezer who is ready to retire. The ‘get off my lawn,’ type. There are deep dark bags dragging down from eyelids to cheeks, and yet his hand holds onto a phone making all kinds of pinging noises, “Oh! You must be Masaru.” Thermite extends for a shake.

“Enatsu. I heard about you from Imagawa.” He accepts the gesture but pulls away in haste. 

“Bet they’re good things.” Thermite maintains a smile.

“Yeah. Although very biased.” A short comment and off he goes, walking ahead and leaving the three behind.

Pulse frowns, “What an attitude.”

Her response is a shrug and two pats on both men standing beside her, “He’s not too bad. Just cranky from jetlag.”

“Are you guys close?” Thermite asks but nudges on Pulse’s ribs, then giggles when thwarted back.

“Close enough to tolerate and work together. But hey! He will come around.” 

“I doubt that.” Pulse rubs on the back of his neck.

“No, I mean it literally. Look.” She points at wherever her grouchy CTU mate went, and sure enough they see the man trudging back in defeat. Without a word from him, she asks where Thermite has parked the car and that becomes their mutual destination. 

-

“So we need to have one person to go down and get some honey from the hive? Who thought of this idea?”

“Me! Call me fantastic.” Thermite is ready to strike another pose, unable to contain all the silly antics from his funny bone around his best friends.

“You’re mad. Crazy,” She studies the head cover, in and out, “Just like how I remember.”

“I don’t see you saying ‘no.’ You can go out like a fire, like how they call you back in Japan.”

Hibana rolls her eyes but there’s a toothy grin, “And cheesy. I thought you were going to curb his enthusiasm.” 

“Well, things are fun around him. Who am I to stop him?” Pulse flips through the proposal he had read far too many times and puts it aside, scanning the man who he has just learned the nickname of. 

“This is ridiculous. I’m not doing it.” Echo flat out refuses without much a glance at the proposal.

“Yeah, yeah. I will do it.” Her voice already muffled upon slipping on the protective gear.

“No!”

“Are you mad?” Neither realise their disapproval would come out simultaneously, so they share a confused look to wonder about each others’ rationale.

Hibana blows on the scooper but shudders at her own breath redirected right into her nose, “Boys, please. A few prickles won’t matter!” 

“It will. We’ve got a mock mission in three days,” Echo takes his eyes off from Pulse and scowls, “And we’re not going to have our reputation tainted because you got into some stupid pranks.”

“She will do a fantastic job!” Pulse blurts all too sudden, “Regardless of what you think. What do you know about her and how she performs?”

Echo is visibly baffled, “Yeah? I’ve worked with her at our academy. She is exemplary. But that doesn’t mean that she is allowed to get cocky. No one in our field should perform when they aren’t in their hundred percent.” 

“Well, you aren’t wrong there. But it’s all fun and games, and we have the best medics to help us after.” Thermite tries to ease the mood, but tension thickens as they all start to bear a similar kind of heated shade on their faces. 

“I can handle it myself. Don’t worry about it.” Not a change in her tone while she speaks to her concerned teammate.

“No. I’m not going anywhere until you tell us what’s important to you.” Echo crosses his arms and leans against a wall.

“She doesn’t need anybody’s permission. Certainly not yours.” Pulse walks up and shoves a finger into Echo’s shoulder, clearly firm and stern to the point where Echo rubs on the spot that’s been jabbed.

“Jack!” Hibana pulls him off, “Don’t be like that!” 

Unsure what to do with the tension, Thermite flips on the calendar, “We don’t have to do it today. How about this weekend?”

“Which part of ‘stupid’ don’t you under-”

“Yup! Sounds good. I will do it on Saturday,” She cuts Echo off and ready to push him out of the room. Even when Pulse opens his mouth to share what’s on his mind, Hibana raises a palm to excuse themselves, and promptly leaves while mouthing a curt apology. 

Minutes pass to collect himself, and Pulse sort of explodes a little, “Can you believe that guy? What a dick!”

“He is. But why are you so worked up? This isn’t the first time we deal with rude dudes.” 

A pause to hold his words, “Yeah, well. Maybe I’m a little tired.” 

“You sure about that?” Thermite hasn’t seen the guy agitated with such passion. Maybe something similar happened when they fought over a playboy magazine during their younger days, but even that wasn’t as volatile as what he had just seen. 

“Yeah. I’m chill now.” Pulse shrugs and the conversation ends. Unresolved tension continues to be kept a mystery because both of the defenders show great teamwork despite the petty conflicts, and Hibana won’t say a word about it to Thermite. 

-

All is well until the promised day at nine in the morning, the moment Hibana prepares herself for the challenge. 

“Yumi.” Pulse hands her the scooper.

Hibana takes it, almost pries it off from his longing grip, “Yeah?”

“You don’t have to do this. It’s not compulsory.” 

“Aw man, not you too! Enatsu’s been egging me about how dumb I’m being,” It’s hard to see her face at all, but a smile is easy to imagine when she chuckles a sigh, “I will be fine. I’m tough enough.”

Pulse looks back and sees his friend walking over, along with I’m-righteous-and-cranky and two medical staffs. Slight grimace flashes his lips before straightening them out, “Yeah. Gotta thank Jordan for this idea.”

“I don’t think it’s bad. Sounds fun, like a summer camp dare,” She catches a crease on his forehead, “Here he comes. Just to laugh at me.”

“Not on my watch,” A thought clicks in his head, “Goddamn. I’d feel sorry for anybody who ends up with him.” Sneering insults leave a bad taste in his mouth, but it’s what he is willing to do for a hopeful answer.

“Oh, he has a girlfriend. She’s cool and not the kind who puts up with his bullshit, so he’s in good hands.” 

“Yeah?” It’s a little embarrassing to hear his own voice elevating into a squeak, so is it a wise decision to drop down an octave “I mean. Yeah. He might need someone to shape him up.” 

Hibana taps on his stubbled scalp, making a nice slap, “Who let you become such a gossipy blue jay? Gosh, you need someone to teach you manners.”

“Maybe I do.” Every ounce of muscle in his body refrains him from looking into her eyes, despite how desperate his heart may be. Thankfully the others came by for a brief greeting, with a camera to record her deeds.

Thermite zooms out for a clear shot, “Yumiko ‘Hibana’ Imagawa, are you ready to be the victor against nature?”

“Wow. That’s really cringey to hear my whole name lined out like that,” She adjusts the collar to make sure there aren’t any gaps for later surprises, “Yup. I’m good to go.”

“Awesome. Let’s go,” Thermite follows after her, “Wanna come with?” 

“No. I think you guys will be alright.” 

“Oh. Okay, then.” Thermite raises a brow but shrugs, not a question raised as he walks down the field with their new challenger.

The other medics also follow along, but situate themselves on a midway from Pulse and the beehive. The breeze sweeps off a thin sheet of sweat on his neck, cooling down the boiling anxiety for events that’s yet to come. 

“Hey. Say it with me,” Echo breaks into Pulse’s sole focus on his friends, “ _Ha-ji-me-ma-shi-te_.”

Pulse showers the man with an incredulous stare, “What?” 

“Whatever you said at the airport was awful. I can’t let you butcher our language like that.” He huffs and raises his chin, effectively showing how he intends to look down on Pulse.

“I don’t need a lesson from you. No thanks.” This is hardly a time to be lectured by someone Pulse doesn’t fully trust yet.

“Aren’t you trying to impress her?” An accusation that rips off the false pretense of a pining man’s heart, “Because there’s no way you’re going to do that while sounding like weeaboo-wannabe.”

There is a different kind of red shade spreading across Pulse’s face, quite different from the last time he argued against Echo, “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Sure I don’t. Like I’m dumber than anybody here-” Echo takes a quick look at where Hibana and Thermite are, “Oh shit! What’s wrong with her?”

“You’re just saying that.” Pulse refuses to be fooled by someone who is constantly undermining him.

“No, really. Look!” Echo starts to jog down the field and that’s when Pulse sees honesty in his panic. Two things he sees straight away; Hibana flailing around to get the head cover off and Thermite trying to catch but too slow compared to her. Not a thought or hesitation before he sprints in full speed to help out. Pulse is amazed at the feat he manages right this moment. He is human at best, so he certainly does not possess a superhuman power to teleport from point A to B. Then how else can he explain the memory loss of shortening the gap within two seconds? 

The medics come a moment after Pulse pulls out the head cover from Hibana. In the midst of the ruckus, she repeatedly asks Thermite whether the jar is safe and the clarity of video footage. 

“Yeah, they are all right here-” Thermite brings the jar close to her.

But Pulse blocks him off and hoists Hibana onto his shoulders in fireman’s carry, “Not now! We need to get you to Kateb asap.” And off he sprints, with medics tailing behind him. All is a blur until Doc assures everybody that bee stings on faces aren’t a big deal. There is nothing too critical about her condition, and Hibana accepted Thermite’s apology to be in a frenzy with her. Then for what reason, does Thermite feel the need to watch Pulse’s temper? The stiff atmosphere is back again, and this time it leaves them with a sense of burnout for a while. 

* * *

A little bonus:

I had a part cut off because this ficlet was getting too long. You don’t have to read this bit, but it’s kinda like deleted scene from where Echo shout out “Oh shit!”

-

“Sure I don’t. Like I’m dumber than anybody here-” Echo takes a quick look at where Hibana and Thermite are, “Oh shit! What’s wrong with her?”

“What?” His neck almost snaps to check whatever the ordeal Echo claims, which he soon learns the nature of being tricked in such manner.

“And you say I don’t know anything. So easy to predict.” That’s the first time Pulse hears a coughed laughter from Echo. A short burst before the man stops himself.

“I’ll be damned,” Fighting against a strong urge to cover his face, Pulse manages a pinch on the bridge of his nose, “Of all the people out here.”

Echo isn’t in the mood to be friendly or consolidating, “It’s obvious. Some things are clear cut for others to see from a stranger's view,” He flips to see a screen on his phone, “Can’t they hurry up?”

Squeezing his fingers in and out, Pulse doesn’t bother to hide the burning curiosity, “How about her? Did she say anything about me?” 

“ _Shirana-_ I mean, I don’t know? Ask her yourself.” 

Two hands are clenched into hardened fist, “Why you-”

“Yeah. Ask her. What’s so hard about that?” He lets out another chuckle, but it drops into a faint flutter, “It’s the beginning that’s the easiest.”

“What, are you dumped?” Pulse gladly takes his turn for a taunt.

“Yup.”

“Oh,” This is the second time he has shamed himself, “That’s rough, buddy.”

“It’s alright. Imagawa tells everybody that I’m still with my ex so people won’t lump us together. Seriously, people are better off minding their own business.” 


	12. GEO - To_see_if_I_still_feel.mp4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sleeping for a while does that to people.

_Don't let me hear a peep of wrens. I can't control the wheel, I lose my course._

Upon finding the mason jar full of _everything_ including honey, Thermite and Pulse replay the video footage and finally sees the horror they couldn’t have anticipated in their wildest dreams. The green filter from night vision even gives it an eerie vibe.

“Where is he now?” 

“Probably in his bed.” Pulse’s lips stretch in solemn grimace.

“He shouldn’t be there! No sleep is gonna sort _that_ out.” Thermite pauses the video to point at the oddity.

“Shit, I don’t know. Infirmary, then.” Hence they walk over to Doc’s domain, wondering if they will get scolded for putting the new operator in danger, despite it’s pretty much self-inflicted.

“Álvarez isn’t going to be happy.” The reputation that comes with the Rainbow’s director of ‘research and development’ department is spectacular. Professional at core with immaculate precision and passion, and temper that matches with the quality of her masterful products. She is the one who is well-respected. The boss no one dares to defy; even the rowdy bunch keeps it civilised when she walks past. Mira sounds like a immobile boulder, but there is a reason she is regarded as a good leader; which is by being the wise one who is willing to hear different input. She doesn’t oppose experimentation, allowing people to think outside of the box. All is permitted as long as there’s no major injury.

“Oh yeah. She's been on edge ever since Pandey put her on the combat roster. I think it will be fine when we talk to her in the morning. Maybe she’ll be less cranky after a good rest.”

“Hope so. Or we can talk to her after he is well rested,” The man of their concern. Newest operator who has flown from Spain to England, seems to be a nice guy to get along with. Thermite had a chance for casual banters when Twitch and Thatcher, his usual hard breach crew, spoke highly of the Spaniard, “I wonder how he is. Kinda worried for him.” But after watching the video, Thermite wonders if the man is truly _alright_.

“He is probably fine. Let’s worry about us and choose our words carefully in front of Kateb.” Pulse whispers as they near the door. Two soft knocks to check if anybody else is in, but given how it’s nearly midnight, the probability is favourably low. 

“Come in.” 

A voice that’s vaguely unrecognisable. Thermite is relieved to assume the person to be a medical staff and opens the door, “Hey. Is Al-Hassar here?”

“He is, but you might want to come back a bit later.” The staff gives them a tight-lipped smile.

“Why?” 

“ _LA HAS JODIDO!_ (YOU’VE FUCKED UP!)” A shout so loud and distinctive. It’s the kind Pulse remembers whenever the new gadget, Black Mirror is installed.

“I think we should leave.” Thermite also recognises who is yelling behind the curtains in the furthest bed away from them.

“Yup,” Pulse agrees, “Oh. Can you pass this to Kateb when he’s here?”

“Will do,” The jar is passed down. As soon as the two Americans have left, the staff walks over to the source of the heated shitstorm, “The boys came by to drop this off.”

“Elena, for the last time, please calm down,” Doc rises from the desk he has been depending on, “And thank you. Who gave this to me again?” 

“Tra-”

“Oh! Yes. That’s right.” Realising what their names will do to the enraged hell standing next to him, Doc perks up in alarm. _How could he forget who could be called by such aliases?_ Despite being full grown men, sometimes those two don’t act their age while being on off-duty.

Mira, however, seems to have an awareness level of an eagle, “Trace? Estrada! I’m going to drag their asses back here!”

“They’ve left,” Doc slides the jar away, “Now. As I’ve told you several times, Ryad will have to stay in bed for a bit. Two weeks tops. But he needs to rest above all-”

“My fucking- _dios mio_ (My God,)” Mira’s gaze glints at the content of the jar, “IS that blood?” She picks it up and squints, nose wrinkling in rage, “ _Mira!_ (Look!)”

“ _Que?_ (What?)” Jackal disobeys, stays in the position he is lying. Face towards the wall, back against whoever is close to him.

“ _Quién cojones se pone a sangrar por un estúpido reto?_ (Who the fuck bleeds for a stupid dare?)”

“Blood?” Jackal looks back, “So that’s where I got my arm hurt. Now I remember.”

Mira is about to have apoplexy any moment, “That’s what we’ve been telling you! We all saw the video! On what right mind would any sane person scrape their own skin with a scooper?”

“Hey. I was itchy and there were a lot of bees. What else should I have done?” Jackal waves his hand and winces, realising it’s the injured forearm. It is entirely red and shimmering with a layer of plasma, the body’s best attempt to stop the bloodshed that soaked the shirt maroon. 

“You should have left and try again when you’re not sleep deprived.” Doc helps Mira to save her voice from yelling.

“Naw. I did what I had to do. Tonight was perfect.”

“So let us get this straight,” Doc swallows a dry spit, suppressing the urge to unleash his own temper, “When is the last time you've had any sleep?”

“When I left Madrid.” 

“You came here five days ago,” No one says anything after her, “Did you bring your medication from home?”

“No, I forgot.” 

“We will prescribe you a new one here,” Doc makes a memo, “And when I read about your mood swings, I didn’t expect it to be… numbness.”

“Well. It’s better than being angry all the time, right?” Jackal wriggles to have his body digging into the mattress, with his healthy arm acting as a pillow for the extra snuggles.

Mira, suddenly quite calm and quiet, asks, “May I have some time alone with this man, Kateb?”

Doc would say yes to private visitations, but he is beyond cautious as of now, “Why?”

“Because I’m going to snap this fucker in half and reboot his whole system. That’s what we do with computers. Turn it off and back on.” Judging by what she can carry at the workshop without anyone’s help, Mira is capable of doing as she desires.

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Jackal is on a whole new plane of nonchalance, “Maybe I will sleep for good this time.”

“Elena, leave it to me. Please, go have a rest,” Doc dares touching those heaving shoulders and guides her away from the bed, “I will make sure to use a lot of rubbing alcohol.”

“Okay. I will sit right here and watch you do that.” That’s the best deal she is compelled to take.

Jackal finally stirs up, visibly anxious, “Give me an anesthetic, at least. I’m wide awake now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I’ve been listening to is [Sleepy Time by Worthikids](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yCG7aZG8sY), which is the lyric of beginning sentence of this ficlet. Good GOod song.
> 
> Also I thank [kiki_92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiki_92/pseuds/kiki_92) for the English to Spanish translation! And I recently learned the word ‘apoplexy’ from her!


	13. SDU - Poke_u_pine.mp4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all about being frugal.

_Survival of the fittest isn’t limited by one’s strength._

Here stands Pulse and Smoke early in the morning, watching the sun rising to peek at them past the mountain’s peak. Pulse insisted that he won’t need a company, but the Brit had been adamant about seeing the new operators. Apparently one of them is familiar with the lunatic skunk and Pulse doubt whether that’s a plus or an impending disaster. 

“Cold like witch’s tits,” Smoke grumbles, then perks up at the sight of a taxi coming over to the base, “Look! I can’t wait to see this bastard again.”

The car stops and there come out two people. One man stretching his waist, and breathing in while rolling a toothpick around, and the other is a woman sizing up her surroundings with a keen glare. She seems to be at ease to see the residents until Smoke dashes towards them.

With arms outstretched, he pulls the man from Hong Kong in, “Well shit! What took you so long to get here?”

“Because I didn’t want to hear your loud racket,” Prying off the rowdy Brit, he walks over to Pulse for a handshake, “Good to see you. Call me Liu.” 

“Estrada. Likewise,” Pulse accepts the gesture, “Hello there. Need some help?” He greets the other who is heaving heavy luggages across her shoulders. 

“I’m fine, thanks,” She nods a little, “I’m Siu. I think I heard your name from Yumiko.”

“Oh! Are you Mei Lin?” 

“Yup. That’s me,” She let out a low growl while throwing her bags on the steps,” I mean, you can call me Ying as well. That’s my supposed code name around here.”

“I’d rather go by our surname when off duty, but I’ll make sure to call you that when we are at work.” Pulse takes one of them for a friendly gesture, but it’s pulled away by the iron grip.

“Whatever suits you,” She shows a smile, which immediately dissipates when facing her colleague, “ _嘿! 咪偷鸡, 将你嘅嘢, 攞出嚟. 唔好畀司机等!_ (Hey! Stop being lazy and get your things out. Don’t make the driver wait!)” 

“Whoa, she’s got some temper. I like it,” Smoke blows a whistle, “So what’s your code name?”

A pause and smirk that follows, “Lesion.”

“Lesion! Are you for fucking real? Hilarious! Real piss comedic!” Smoke lay a couple of hearty slams on Lesion’s back. Resounding thuds and cackles, then carries two of his friend’s duffle bags.

“I think it’s on par with what you’re called. A fart.” Lesion kicks the other by his buttocks and slams the trunk down. 

“Smoke! It’s like cigarettes, you know?” 

“At least nicotines don’t kill you instantly.” 

-

A few days goes by after the arrival of SDU operators. Of course Ying disagreed to participate in the honey challenge, even enraged after learning of Hibana's incident and nearly threw Thermite off his ground. On the other hand, Lesion read over the proposal and humbly accepted, but requested a grace period of a few weeks. Almost a joy and enthusiasm twinkling in his eyes, which has Thermite suspicious of the man from that moment.

“You want me to ask him that?” Smoke chucks a hand, “Hey, do you smell just as bad as I am?”

“You can go for that, but I’d be creeped out.” Pulse frowns at the notion, imagining himself putting his nose close to the newly joining operator. 

“But he’s too happy about it,” Thermite muses, “I haven’t seen people smile like that when they read my proposals.”

“Now do you see the sadistic nature of your bullshittery?” Smoke picks on his nose, “Not that I’m complaining. Maybe there are people who love bees as nature intended.”

“Are you sure that bees won’t run away at the sight of him? Like how you cheated?” 

“Mate, I don’t know! Go smell him,” Smoke can’t roll his eyes any further than what they are capable of doing, “Or smell me. Do I smell bad?” Arms up to expose his armpit, then he shoves it towards Thermite’s face, “Smell. I’m all rainbows and glitters.”

The whole room shakes when Thermite knocks all the chairs down while retracting, and Smoke follows after in rampant stomps. Pulse, who laughs at the sight isn’t safe from the crazy man either. Everything around them is stirred dust and heated air. None of the three notice Lesion standing there, recording the whole ordeal with a cheshire cat grin. Thankfully Smoke sees him and the video ends with a close-up shot of the hairy crevice. 

“Good evening,” A plastic bag rustles when Lesion pushes away the chair to give himself a leg-space on a couch, “You lot are surely lively.”

“Tze Long, I’ve a burning question,” The uproar lifted a layer of common sense off from Smoke, “Do I smell bad?”

“No?” Lesion shrugs, “You smell like a sweaty man who needs a shower.”

“ _That’s_ not bad?” Thermite is quick to bury his nose close to his own armpit.

“There’s nothing much that can phase me. Childhood full time jobs and all. Fun times.” 

“So you wouldn’t douse yourself in toxic gas?” Smoke asks again and gives the two Americans a side-glance.

Lesion cocks his head, “James. I’m not going to stoop to your level just because we’re friends.”

“See! My mate here is an honest, hard working man.” Smoke throws himself next to Lesion for a seat, then flinches upon landing his butt on the plastic bag, “Ow.” Then proceeds to find a safe spot. 

“Are you ready for the challenge?” Thermite sits on Lesion’s left, a free space to get close and subtly take a sneaky whiff to make sure. 

“Two more days.” Lesion keeps the smile but frowns at this weird obsession over bodily scents. 

Pulse sees muddy blotches on his sneakers and exposed legs below the cargo pants, “Been out for a work?”

“Yeah. Nature walks.” 

“Do you know that he talks about trees and rocks with his arms on hips? Like a damn old man.” Smoke quickly imitates the other and slows the words down like the over-the-top bad acting of a grandpa, “ _好_ (Good,) nice tree. Look at that nice rock!” Then scratches his arse cheek.

“Ho ho, my dad gotta see this!” Lesion whips out his phone again, recording Smoke’s terrible reenactment again. The two proceed to fall into their own world, forgetting the bystanders like they’re the third wheel stuck between the bestest friendship there is.

Pulse stands up and taps on Thermite’s shoulder, prompting to leave with his own bestie. As they walk out of the room, he whispers, “I think he’s an alright bloke. Nothing weird like we thought he would be.”

“You never know,” Thermite looks back and hears another explosion of chuckles, “He is Porter’s bud after all.”

Speculations and skepticisms aside, Thermite lets them slip away because there are other matters to attend. 

-

Mock missions after another, facing Lesion's gadget proved to be an interesting experience. The man assured his needles have nothing too harmful; just substitutes to give one-tenth of the real deal, and yet the itchiness that followed after being pricked had been oddly discomforting. Over the course of three weeks, most of the operators complained about the hidden trap and thought it shouldn’t be used in mock-trainings. So when Mira addressed the issue to Lesion, he simply said, “Don’t worry. That was the last batch.”

The day has come, and Lesion invites the three men. Despite Smoke’s eagerness to be the cameraman, Thermite asks the walking biohazard to spectate from far away. It’s a sure measure to prevent any foul play and Thermite will only believe what he witnesses up close.

“Are you ready?” Thermite helps Lesion with the headgear and makes sure to have no gap for a bee to wriggle in. 

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Lesion taps the scooper against the mason jar, “You can come closer.” 

“I’m fine. Don’t want any mishaps without protective gears.” Thermite turns the camera on and presses the red button. 

“Whatever floats your boat.” He shrugs and walks down the field. Brisk and fast paced, unlike a man whose arms and legs are exposed while approaching a beehive. 

Thermite wonders about the story behind the man’s cargo pants, “Didn’t they give you our track pants? Rainbow isn’t too shabby with their winter wear.”

“They did, but I like mine better.” 

That’s a recipe to ensue Doc’s rage. Thermite considers swapping their clothes right here, then what’s the use if Lesion himself chooses to be careless? Swallowing a sigh aside, he braces for an angry swarm to greet them with noisy buzzing. Any minute now. Soon. Closer they are, those tiny spawns of hell will come at them.

Except they hear nothing. Rustling leaves and whoosh from the timely breeze, even a few chirps from birds above. But only mute response from the beehive. 

“Awfully quiet, huh?” Lesion’s remark grabs Thermite’s attention. A calm voice, and yet it sounds louder than it should be since Thermite has tuned himself to be sensitive to their surrounding.

“I think so.”

“Time to grab that honey, then.” And just like that, Lesion raises the scooper and digs it into the hive. Thick goo flows down and the mason jar catches every ounce. All so easy and nice. Finding this situation far too bizarre, Thermite tiptoes over to the hive and checks whether it’s empty. 

It nearly is. Upon close inspection, there are bees inside each of the hexagonal holes. He can even hear faint, but surely audible buzzing as if his large gaping iris is threatening them. Thinking it’s better not to provoke them any further, Thermite leans back. Perhaps a little too late because three of them begin to hover around him. Feeling nervous, Thermite taps on Lesion, “Are you nearly finished?”

“Getting there. Are you taking a good shot?” 

“I would like to,” Thermite scoots away, “But there are bees here.”

“Are there?” Lesion smirks, his eyes following the one flying close to the panicked American, “Hold on.” Closing the lid and putting the jar down, he flexes two free hands and bends those knees.

“Hm?” Thermite dares not to breathe.

“Don’t move.” One jab dangerously close to Thermite’s cheekbone and a squeal fades away. Lesion repeats the act multiple times, dancing around the stiff-frightened man and it’s over less than a minute.

“What did you do?”

“Got them,” Lesion holds one bee and pulls the stinger out. This man pulls it out, bare hand and does it for the other two. Thermite records it all, even the bit where Lesion digs the ground to lay their twitching bodies under for a burial of a sort, “Rest in peace.” _More like rest in pieces?_

“Why?” One word can’t contain a plethora of other things he wants to ask, but that’s all he can muster while being baffled to beyond.

“Honey bees die after leaving their stinger on the aggressors. So when they choose to attack you, they’ve decided to risk their lives,” Lesion shoves the extracted life-weapons into his pants pockets, “I’d rather not waste what they sacrifice. Too bad I won’t be able to keep my promise with Álvarez.”

_Mira? Why does this man bring her name out?_ Then it clicks. The pricks. Itchiness. Smoke scratching his butt. Judging by how many needles are in Lesion’s invisible trap cans, and how many cans have use in each round of two or three, AND how many times they did the training within the span of three weeks. No wonder why there aren’t many bees around. Shuddering at the thought, Thermite wants to have one last question, “Are you going out for nature walks after this?”

Lesion watches. Intently, into Thermite’s very core, intentionally intense with his constant smile, “No. Not anymore. James told me about nice pubs down the street and I’d like to see something else to say _好_ (Good.)”

“Yup. You do that.” Thermite hears his own voice breaking like a prepubescent child before power-walking away from the ground that may have countless graveyards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used translator to do English to Cantonese, but if it’s wrong please let me know through chat or reply and I will fix it asap ;_;


End file.
